


The Right Time

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: Tormund Giantsbane is at the top of Jaime Lannister'sIrrational Hate List.





	The Right Time

“So, I caught Tordumb in the supply closet eating paste,” Jaime Lannister announced as he sauntered into her office.

Brienne looked up from editing the Stokeworth brief and, for just a moment, was left speechless by the sparkle in his eyes, the perfect fall of his hair, the brutal edge of his jawline. It always amazed her how one man could be so incredibly handsome, every single day, no matter what he was wearing, no matter his mood. Jaime Lannister was breath-takingly, heart-stoppingly, brain-numbingly gorgeous.

She shook her head to clear it, trying to process his words. “Huh?”

Jaime scrunched up his face and then spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if she were stupid, “The. Asshole. Ginger. Menace. From. The. North. Is. In. The. Supply. Closet. Eating. Paste.”

That didn’t make sense. “Jaime, this is a law firm, not a primary school. We don’t even have paste.” Brienne knew every supply that had been ordered, every expense that had been approved. Since joining Winterfell Law, Catelyn Stark had made her administrative partner, and monitoring the firm’s balance sheet was one of her many responsibilities.

Brienne had gone to law school dreaming of becoming a brilliant barrister, but when faced with a jury, she became tongue-tied, needing rescue by her then mentor and co-counsel, Jaime Lannister. He had been hard on her from the first day they’d met, always pushing her. He still believed she would be a fantastic trial attorney if she could just get past her crippling fear of being stared at by groups of people. She’d found her niche though. She was the firm’s best writer. The Courts routinely quoted lines from her briefs in their decisions, and her research skills were unmatched.

Jaime was the best litigator in the firm, maybe in all of Westeros, and he had insisted that she was the only person he would work with on his briefs and memoranda, but she wasn’t going to get any work done today if he didn’t stop distracting her.

“I’m telling you, I went to get a new toner cartridge and he was in there eating paste. It was smeared all over that face-wig he wears," Jaime said as he waved his hand around his own, gorgeous chin.

Brienne pressed her fingers to her eyebrows, trying to stop the oncoming headache. Ever since Tormund Giantsbane had contracted with the firm as a private investigator, he had been at the top of Jaime’s _Irrational Hate List_. She inhaled and splayed her hands flat on her desk, “Jaime, we both know that’s not true, and do you know how I know it’s not true?”

Jaime raised one aristocratic brow. “How?”

“Because never, ever in your life have you ever changed your own toner cartridge. I don’t think you even know what a toner cartridge is. In fact, you probably couldn’t find the supply closet without a map.”

Jaime reared back. “I do too know what a toner cartridge is! And the supply closet is next to the break room.”

He was right; it _was_ next to the break room. She blinked at him.

A grin spread across his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He made a ‘raise the roof’ motion with his one good hand.

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “And tell me, from where we are right now, how do you get to the break room?”

She watched the confusion move across his features before he settled on an expression of determination. He placed hand and stump on her desk and leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter, Brienne. That asshole is a paste-eater and should be fired.”

Not that Brienne liked the man from Wildling Investigations. She didn’t. Not at all. No matter how he made his interest in her clear. His leers were not welcome. Not to mention that his eating habits left a lot to be desired. Still, his work was solid. And he was a friend of Catelyn’s stepson, Jon Snow.

“Jaime,” she began, “you know I can’t—”

A knock on the doorframe interrupted her. There stood the very object of their conversation, Tormund Giantsbane, in all his scraggly glory. He smiled at her. Her skin crawled. Jaime planted himself in one of her office chairs and propped his feet up on the other, effectively leaving the investigator no place to sit.

“Yes, Mr. Giantsbane,” she tried to smile at him, “how can I help you?” Jaime was right. There was something distinctly sticky and white in the man’s beard. She fought down the bile rising in her throat.

“I told ye ta call me Tormund, or Tor, fer short.” He again bared his teeth at her. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small, slightly battered, foil-topped cup. “I noticed ye weren’t around fer lunch, so I gotcha a yogler.” He placed the yogurt container on her desk and set a recently used spoon atop it. “I thought ye were probably due fer a break.”

Brienne looked at the dirty and pathetic offering and then back up at the man who had given it. Her stomach roiled as a glob of yogurt escaped the tangled mass of his beard and landed on the collar of his shirt. She was struggling for a way to politely refuse when she heard a distinct growl from Jaime’s direction.

He rose from his seat and turned around, facing the bear-like man. With a deliberate swipe of his stump, he knocked the unopened cup to the floor before leaning his perfect muscular backside against the edge of her desk. His voice was like shards of ice as he spoke to the investigator. “Brienne already has plans for lunch. With me.” He then stood straight and took a step closer to the other man. “She has plans today. Tomorrow. Every lunch. Every day. Every dinner, too.”

Tormund snorted. “The big woman hasna got yer mark on ‘er.”

Brienne tried to see around Jaime’s broad back and shoulders, wondering how she could stop the men from coming to blows.

Jaime advanced, and Brienne could tell from the roll of his shoulder that he was poking the shorter man in the chest. “Her name is Brienne, not ‘the big woman’ and you will call her Ms. Tarth, is that understood?”

“Gentlemen,” she rose from her chair, near shouting before Tormund could respond.

Jaime turned to look at her, still blocking her view of the investigator. He smiled the smile that made her flush all over. “Yes, Brienne?”

She should be immune to him by now, but still her breath caught. She cleared her throat and stepped to one side, “Mr. Giantsbane—”

Jaime made a satisfied noise.

Brienne glared at him and continued, “While I appreciate the thought, I am not fond of yogurt.”

The bearded man’s face fell for a moment before again gracing her with his creepiest of smiles. “Ye know yer taste buds change every seven years. Just have to wait it out, and Imma very patient man.” With that he picked up the yogurt and spoon from the floor. Without even a quick wipe on his shirt, he licked the utensil before fluttering his tongue in Brienne’s direction and heading back down the hallway.

Jaime turned on her. “See. You have to fire him. He was sexually harassing you.”

Brienne groaned. No one would believe that she, of all people, would be sexually harassed. No one had believed it in law school when she was the subject of a bet on her virginity; no one would believe it now. “Jaime. Stop. You know I can’t fire him because he’s Jon’s friend and he’s good at what he does.”

“What he does? What he does? All that man seems to do is leer at you and eat food out of the garbage can.”

She pushed the thought of Tormund’s free-gan ways from her mind. “He’s not getting fired.”  She picked up her pen and fiddled with it. “In fact, Catelyn thinks I should give him a chance.”

Jaime stilled beside her. “What?”

She shrugged. “Catelyn thinks because he likes me, I should go out with him. That it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance. He might grow on me.” She repeated Catelyn’s words, which had been couched in kindness that couldn’t hide the pity.

Jaime somehow looked both outraged and smug. “I always knew that anyone with the last name of Stark was a complete and utter idiot, but I thought Catelyn’s Tully genes gave her an iota of sense. I can see I was wrong.”

Brienne sighed. “Now you sound like Lyanna Mormont. She thinks I shouldn’t give Tormund the time of day. She thinks I should only date men _I_ find attractive.”

“Mormont? The angry pixie law clerk with the permanent bitchface? I knew I liked that girl.” Jaime nodded in satisfaction. “She’s right. You should take all of your romantic advice from her.” He paused. “So,” he began, leaning close to her, “who _do_ you find attractive, Brienne?”

She stared at the pen still in her hand, determined not to look at Jaime as he might see the truth in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m only ever attracted to men who are out of my league.” She knew what she looked like. She’d always known. And no matter what Lyanna said, looks did matter.

“Out of your league?” Jaime repeated. “There is no man in the history of men who is out of _your_ league. You are out of their league. You’re the most incredible woman I know. Any man would be lucky to catch even a glimpse of those astonishing eyes of yours.”

Brienne tried to mask her discomfort. Jaime had said those sorts of things to her before. It was always awkward, but this time she was a little angry. She looked up at him. “Name _one_ guy, other than Tormund, who would want to date me? Just _one_?” she snapped.

He stood staring at her, silent. She could feel the tears welling. Not even Jaime, a man she’d come to think of as her closest friend, could name someone for her. She choked out a pathetic, “See, you can’t. There isn’t one.” She went back to focusing on her pen, hoping he would have the grace to leave so she could wallow in her self-pity alone.

Then she felt him move beside her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She felt his hand on her chin, tilting her face up so she would be forced to look into his eyes. His beautiful perfect green eyes.

“Me,” he ground out.

She blinked. She blinked again. “What?”

“You asked me to name one man who would want you. I named one. Me.”

She almost let herself believe him, but knew in her heart he was just trying to make her feel better. “You?” she responded, not up for the joke. “You think we’re in the same league?” She huffed. “We aren’t even playing the same game.”

Something odd flashed across his face. He leaned in to her. “I’m not that bad of a catch, Brienne.” He turned away only to turn and face her again before moving into what she’d always thought of his ‘closing argument’ stance. He raised his hand and began ticking off points. “I’m rich. I’m successful. I’m considered attractive. I have good teeth. I have thick, healthy hair. I’m generally considered witty and I can be charming. Yes, I’m a cripple.” He waved his stump at her. “But you’ve never seemed to mind that before, and it’s not genetic. I bring quite a bit to the table.”

She furrowed her brow. “What?” He wasn’t making sense.

“I mean, I’m not worthy of you,” he turned away from her as he said it, then rounded on her with his next statement. “But I’m not the bottom of the barrel. And I’m still working on it. One day, maybe, maybe, I’ll be in your league, but I am definitely better than that paste-eater. At least when I kiss you, you won’t end up covered in glue and week old egg yolk. I’ll give you the kind of kiss you deserve.” He finished with the look that he had given to a hundred juries, certain that he had made his point, certain that they would agree with him. He seemed certain she would agree as well.

But Brienne didn’t even know what she would be agreeing to. She licked her thick lips. She responded to the one statement that echoed in her brain. “ _When_ you kiss me?”

He must have caught the look in her eye and a hint of uncertainty crossed his face. “I’ve been working up to it. The kissing. I’ve been waiting for the right time.” His eyes traveled down to her lips and stayed there. “When will be the right time, Brienne?”

She looked at him and all thoughts of paste-eating Wildlings, dating within her own league, and the Stokeworth brief fled from her brain. _Now_ , she thought, _now is the right time_. Before she could change her mind, she crushed her lips against his.

She'd clearly caught him by surprise, and she wasn't much good at kissing anyway. Her teeth knocked against his. She drew back, intending to apologize.

Jaime looked at her with wide eyes. She'd misunderstood. This was a mistake. She felt the heat flooding her face. He blinked at her. Twice.  _Oh, gods,_ what had she  _done_?

He turned away from her and walked to the door. He shut it; he locked it. He walked past her to the windows and snapped the blinds shut. He turned back and looked at her and then looked down at her desk. With one sweep of his good arm, he cleared it, all of her research and office supplies tumbling to the floor.

She spluttered. “W-what are you doing?”

He moved to stand in front of her and wrapped both arms around her waist. She was too shocked to struggle. He bent his knees and with a strength she only suspected he possessed, lifted her onto the desk, positioning himself between her slightly parted legs. Then he grinned at her, his eyes dark and heated. “Giving you the kiss you deserve.”

So he did.


End file.
